


He's pretty much 85% of my impulse control

by glennthewalmartguy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex fucking loses it, Fluff, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Marriage, someone help him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 05:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11373543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennthewalmartguy/pseuds/glennthewalmartguy
Summary: John goes away for the weekend, and Alex... well, you know.Based off this post http://iwillmindfuckyou.tumblr.com/post/103627890588/totallyfubar-nightstargalaxy-totallyfubarThanks to sobermeup for editing





	He's pretty much 85% of my impulse control

John kisses Alex goodbye Friday morning. He’s going to visit his family back in South Carolina for the weekend. He’ll be back Monday morning before the sun even fully rises. Alex has three days all to himself. When John gets in the cab and drives away Alex immediately turns on reality TV. John hates it, he says it’s far too fake and toxic and Alex agrees but it’s also really fun to watch. He laughs at pretty much all of it, even the parts that are supposed to be serious. It’s just so obviously fake. Alex doesn’t eat lunch, or dinner, but he does eat three bowls of cereal at 2 am. He texts John goodnight, and then stays up for three more hours writing argumentative essays about climate change. He wakes up the next morning covered in cereal dust on the couch. Whatever channel he was on has now turned to infomercials. He turns it off. He has to clean the living room or John will kill him when he gets back.  
Or… he could just move all the furniture to cover up the things on the carpet. Alex decides that is a much better idea. He drags the couch further to towards the television. He moves the chair in front of the window. Now, you can’t see any spilled almond milk on the carpet. He sits on the newly moved couch and turns on really loud pop music. Stuff John would call ‘trash radio pop’, Alex loves it though. He stands on the coffee table and starts dancing. His ponytail slips with how forcefully he’s jumping. Then he hears a crack, and he starts falling. His foot hits the floor through the hole he just made in the table. He carefully removes his foot and steps off the table. Shit. There is no way he is letting John see this. He looks around for something to cover it up with. A cereal bowl catches his eye (one of many scattered around the living room). It’s the perfect size to cover the hole his foot made. He picks it up and gently places it over the cavity and nods, satisfied with his fix. He sits on the couch and examines his foot. That is definitely going to bruise. He can already see a ring forming on his ankle. There’s nothing he can do about it now. He pulls out his phone and opens Twitter. John isn’t here to take his phone away from him now.  
Turns out John has notifications on for his Twitter. He calls him after the first few minutes and tells him to please get off and go do something else, anything else. Alex reluctantly puts down his phone. He has nothing better to do now than watch more reality shows. Listen, okay, John forced him into this. Three hours later he’s crying over the Bachelor and he realizes he may have gone too deep. And holy shit his feet are freezing. He needs to get some fuzzy socks. He picks up his phone again and gets on Amazon. Pretty soon he’s found a pack with 15 pairs for just ten dollars, fifteen if he gets express shipping so it will be here tomorrow (which of course he gets). He eats another bowl of cereal and gets into bed. Where he tries to fall asleep, really, but within ten minutes he’s given up and started writing on the notepad he keeps in his bedside drawer. Then he switches to his laptop.  
And suddenly it’s 6 am. Alex squints at the sun streaming through his window. He doesn’t remember it rising, or really any time passing at all. He moves back to the living room couch with his laptop and keeping writing. He doesn’t unfocus from his essay until someone knocks on his door. He walks over and opens it. His socks! They’re here! He takes the package and starts to open it, but then he realizes that he very hungry and very tired. So he falls asleep eating a bowl of cereal instead. He wakes up when the sun is starting to set. His feet are so cold. He rips open the package of socks and somehow manages to have them go flying everywhere. One lands in his abandoned cereal bowl. He does not care, he puts on three pairs of socks on his feet. His hands are cold, too. He pulls a pair of socks onto his hands. He falls asleep again.  
When he wakes up it’s Monday, at 3 am. John will be back in a few hours. Alex could clean, but instead he just eats more cereal and watches TV. Before he notices the time passing, his husband opens the door to their apartment and openly groans. He looks at Alex sitting on the couch and sighs. Alex walks up to him and kisses his cheek.  
“Alex?” John asks.  
“Yes, John?”

“Why do you have socks on your hands?”  
“They were cold.”

“How many pairs do you have on your feet?”

“Three.”

“Why is there a pair in that fucking half-eaten cereal bowl?”

“They landed there.”  
“Also, why are there so many fucking cereal bowls?” John walks into the kitchen. He looks in the sink.  
“Alex?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“You only put one bowl in the sink. There are at least twelve in the living room.”  
“I am a busy man, John. I don’t have time to put the bowl in the sink.” John sighs. He looks at the living room and shakes his hand.  
“Why did you move the furniture?”  
“Almonds.”  
“What? Never mind.” John runs his hands through his hair. He walks over and collapses on the couch.

“Come here.” Alex does as he’s told and sits beside John.  
“You know I love you. Even if you do weird shit while I’m away. I missed you.” Alex smiles and leans in. John kisses him slowly. They pull back. John puts his arm around Alex’s shoulder and props his feet up on the coffee table. The problem is, the coffee table can't hold the weight of his feet. It splits in half and falls with a horrible crash. John sputters, stunned. Alex looks guilty.  
“Yeah, um, I may have put my foot through the table,” he says. He pulls down his socks and shows John the now purple bruise on his ankle. John goes from angry to worried quickly.  
“Oh no, my love. Does it hurt?”

“No, John. I no longer feel pain. Only cereal.”

**Author's Note:**

> To be clear, Alex is totally fine living alone. He's lived alone most of his life. It's just that when John is only gonna be gone for a few days he kind of loses it.


End file.
